After mulling it over these past couple of days, I regret to inform you that I do not accept your apology.

As someone who sometimes watches you play golf when you have a lead on Sunday during one of the four major PGA Tour® tournaments, I do not feel your apology will suffice. I mean, one time I spent an entire day playing Tiger Woods PGA Tour 2002 on PlayStation® 2 instead of studying for midterms. So. As you can see. Sorry isn’t going to cut it, Mr. Playboy. No way, Jose. You owe me. Big Time. You behaved without morals in your own personal life that I am in no way associated with and all you are going to say is Sorry in a press conference? A press conference? It didn’t even look like you took it seriously. Almost as if it wasn’t necessary in any way whatsoever. Like you wanted people to mind their own business. Why? Don’t you think somehow this whole infidelity thing may have affected me? I mean, it’s me. I’m important!

Remember in 2005 when you won The Masters? I watched that on TV. Hell, I’ve even bought one or two Nike® shirts in my day, more so because of Michael Jordan (Who I see received an invitation to your little event. The P.O. must have lost mine in the mail.), but still. I could have bought PUMA® products, you know. They’re doing some stylish things over there at PUMA these days. Maybe I’ll become a PUMA guy instead of a Tiger guy. A Jungle Cat loyalty swap, if you will. Then we’ll see how Sorry you are. My guess is Very. Very Sorry.

Is this Live? Or Happening Now? Where is this happening? What time is it? I need a few more Tiger graphics to discern what is going on here.

Perhaps I’m being too hard on you? Maybe I have jumped the gun? This has just been a rough couple of months for me. Seeing you in the tabloids and on E! News all the time. You’re not even dating a Kardashian, for christ’s sake! How do you think that makes me feel?

I just don’t know. Can I assume a check with a lot of zeroes is headed my way in the mail? Maybe one of those large ones you get for winning a tournament? That would be a cute touch and go a long way toward me forgiving your personal, completely non-golf-related indiscretions. I can just imagine trying to use it to buy groceries with. Just like you did in that commercial. How farcical! Or maybe I will come home to find a new 2010 Buick Enclave in my driveway. I’m sure you’ll come up with something so I can put this whole sad story behind me. You could ask Kobe? He seems to know the right gift for such an occasion.

Apparently, not too long ago, women in the UK were polled by Del Monte® and asked which male celebrity they would most like to see in popsicle form. Daniel Craig, star of Casino Royale and Look at My Chest, won in a landslide.

Word is, Nature Valley® will be polling USA women later this year to determine which celebrity they would most like to see in granola bar form. My guess is Danny Glover.

Jeff Bridges, widely known as “The Cool Guy” from The Big Lebowski or the bald guy from Iron Man, plays Bad Blake, an alcoholic country-music-star-has-been whose days in the spotlight are long since gone and replaced with bowling alley appearances, cheap whiskey and steak dinners in styrofoam containers. (To amplify his bottom-dwelling, we are shown him disposing of a gallon jug of what appears to be his own urine. Which I guess is better than someone else’s.) Somewhere in the Southwest of the USA, Arizona maybe, during his cliché downward spiral, Bad meets a small-time reporter named Jean, played by Maggie Gyllenhaal (Brokeback Mountain’s sister). For whatever reason, because the character development moves faster than Apollo Ohno (watch the Olympics on NBC), Blake falls for Jean like Bisquick® fell for Aunt Jemima®.

This love connection inspires Bad to swallow his pride with a chaser of Pabst® and kick-start his career again with his one-time protegé, Tommy Sweet, played by Colin Farrell (I’m a Douche). The audience doesn’t really know why Bad doesn’t like Tommy but we definitely know that Bad doesn’t like Tommy. Because he says as much. A LOT.

Will Bad return to his glory days? Will he not? Will you care? I suppose you’ll have to see it to find out.

Jeff Bridges gives a riveting performance in Crazy Heart and the Temple of Doom.

It probably sounds like I’m being hard on this movie. That’s because I am. Only due to the fact that there is not a single ounce of creativity throughout the 111 minute runtime. But. I did like Crazy Heart. It follows a timeless formula that never gets old, a formula that seems to work, time and time again. I guess I’m a sucker for it. Also. Jeff Bridges sings in the film better than I have ever seen an actor sing in a film. Even better than Zoe Deschanel in every single movie she has been in. Remember when she sang in The Happening? That seemed pointless. Although, that whole movie seemed pointless. (I hope you agree.) Bridges sings so well, you may even consider buying the soundtrack and not breaking it. The acting is EXCELLENT and award-worthy. Robert Duvall (Every Movie Ever Made) makes a brief appearance, you know, because he is still alive.

This movie receives 3.25 gravy boats out of 5. It doesn’t do much. But what it does do it does well.

If you are looking for originality. Look elsewhere. Remember last year when The Wrestler came out? Well, this year Crazy Heart came out. If you are short on movie ticket cash, you could simply relive your screening of The Wrestler and replace the word “wrestling” with “country music,” then you would have Crazy Heart. There is even a broken, abandoned father-child relationship. Which is always a must. If you have a couple of dollar bills stashed in your jeans, give it a shot.

By the way, internet. Did you see The Hurt Locker? That looks pretty good. Hello? Internet?

If you like music, humor and reading words, you should peruse my friend’s blog at musicblogfunpartytime.wordpress.com. I think he also plays in a band or two. He is a regular Danny DeVito. Which is to say, a Renaissance Man.

Go check it out. I can only assume he is working on a Uncle Kracker post right this very minute.

You can also access his blog and other things I read on the bottom right of my sidebar. Underneath Things I Read.

“The itsy-bitsty spider went up the water spout. Down came the rain and washed the spider out. Up came the sun and dried up all the rain and the itsty-bitsy spider went up the spout again.”

If so inclined, one could draw comparisons to the mythical tale of Sisyphus, a Greek king banished to Hades, doomed to push a boulder up a hill for all of eternity only to watch it roll down immediately upon reaching the top, or the plight of those in English poet T.S. Eliot’s The Wasteland.

To take things one step further, you could interpret both tales as well as The Itsy-Bitsy Spider as symbols of modern life and the 21st century man in that many of us find ourselves repeating the same actions and mistakes over and over, never experiencing new results yet continuing the process in the hopes of a better outcome. Essentially what Albert Einstein would define as insanity.

Perhaps Vaclav Havel, former president of Czechoslovakia, said it best, “The tragedy of modern man is not that he knows less and less about the meaning of his own life, but that it bothers him less and less.”

Good point, Vaclav. Good point indeed.

Anyways. I always kind of liked spiders. Remember Arachnophobia? That movie was weird.

Between you, me and the internet, I have been jonesin’ for some pancakes for about two weeks now. Bad! Like Ozzy Osbourne and bat heads, but with pancakes. Ya dig? We don’t have a Teflon® pan. And if we did, it would probably be dirty. Don’t judge, Judy. So. Last night, my wife and daughter and I loaded up the Saturn® and hit the highway. Destination: The Original Pancake House® (OPH).

Now, I know what you are thinking, “But Ribs, my dear, dear, muscular friend, OPH isn’t open at night.” You don’t think I know that? Please. I know that. However, we recently received a coupon in the mail from OPH stating, “Visit our Downer Ave. location. Now open for dinner Wed. thru Sat.” (Lucky for us it was Thur., which falls in between Wed. and Sat.) Breakfast for dinner? Well, hot-diggity dog! Don’t mind if I do. Exclamation Point!

They also claim to be, “Home of the Dutch Baby!” A Dutch Baby is not a newborn from Amsterdam, but rather a heaping mound of dough filled with sugar, cinnamon and apples the size of a newborn from Amsterdam. It could sink the Titanic if some billionaire took the trouble to pull up the entire Titanic, reassemble it and return it to seaworthy conditions. But I digress.

So. As I said before. We hit the road. Spirits were high with pancakes on the horizon and rainbows in our hearts. Smiles stretched ear to ear.

Sadly. Our timing couldn’t have been worse. It was the middle of Rush Hour. Just call me, Jackie Chan (which would make my wife Chris Tucker, I guess. Gross.). Therefore. It took a half hour to get downtown. Once there, we couldn’t find parking. But OPH was in sight. We were in the proximity of pancakes. Of that we were sure. So. We pushed on. As we scanned the dimly lit terrain for a space, we noticed that the lights in OPH seemed eerily not on. Almost as if they were off. “Hmm…,” we thought. Tensions rose in the Saturn.

We tried to remain optimistic. Glasses half full, and what not. “They probably keep the lights off, you know, because of the economy.” “Maybe it’s a surprise party for us?” “Pancakes taste better with the lights off, don’t you think?” “I had carrots for lunch, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” It was futile. You could cut the panic with a sharp object.

I pulled into the nearest lot and put the car in “P”. My wife pulled out her Verizon Wireless™ cell phone and dialed OPH’s digits post-haste. She waited for an answer. And waited. And waited. It was the hardest part. No answer came. Only the sorrowful sounds of silence. And ringing.

They were CLOSED.

On this particular Thur., there was no dinner being served at their Downer location. No. None at all. The place was sans customers. Crickets. Chairs were on tables. Tables were on the floor. Ok, that’s usual, but you get the point. Bummer City, Population: Us. Talk about false advertising. Some ad intern really dropped the ball. Yancy Thigpen style. I mean, it’s one thing to randomly capitalize the letter “O” in the words “Orange” and “Omelettes” but it’s another thing entirely to lie about business hours. Tisk, tisk, OPH. Shame on you for inspiring false pancake hopes and then crushing them without even a second thought.

“What then?” you wonder.

I regret to inform you, not all stories have happy endings or Princesses. Sometimes the hero doesn’t ride off into the sunset, slay the dragon or get the girl. No. Some stories are just sad and barely worth telling. Like this one.

We drove back home with our heads hung low and our bellies pancake-less. My wife had a sandwich for dinner. I had a sandwich and Alphabet soup.

*Unfortunately, I was unable to post this before last night’s episode. Fortunately, that doesn’t make me any less wrong.*

Record: 0-1

It looks as though I was right about the “Heroes” dominating the physical challenges. Here’s to small victories. Little did I know, the “Heroes” would be AWFUL at puzzles. Seriously. I think Al Gore and a styrofoam cup could have worked together better than that. Hell, even the New Jersey Nets could have beat them.

Therefore. Sugar was the first to the chopping block. Don’t cry for her, Argentina.

Any-Hoo. Based on the previews for this week’s episode, I would have to assume “Boston” Rob will be leaving the game tonight. I can only recall one player in the history of Survivor to suffer a major injury and return. So. The smart money says that this is “The Boy from Bean Town’s” last episode and there will be no Tribal Council (CBS has to milk this cash cow as long as they can).

If you are like me, people constantly confuse you for (insert young, sexy actor here). Also, you are pretty excited about the première of Survivor: Heroes vs. Villains tonight on CBS. Check your local listings. If you feel like it.

This season, the 20th of the hit “reality” series, is gearing up to be one of the best with the return of many of the show’s most entertaining and enigmatic cast members. As well as Candice Woodcock.

I don’t think I have missed more than two or three episodes since the show first aired in the summer of 2000. Therefore, I consider myself a bit of a Survivor expert. Which means, you may consider me a bit of a dork? That’s OK. I accept it.

Anyways, for fun, I plan to put my “fandom” to the test this season to see whether or not I can correctly guess who the winner will be. I will also guess who will be voted out each week. Play along at home, if you like. Or don’t. So, without further ado, here we go:

First voted out:

The “Heroes” team is stacked physically. The five guys (J.T., Tom, Rupert, James and Colby) are all almost strictly known for their athletic ability and success in their previous seasons. They also have two of the most athletic girls in the show’s history, Stephanie LaGrossa and Amanda Kimmel. Therefore, the “Heroes” will win the first, and many of the tribal immunity challenges.

Because Sandra Diaz-Twine is a previous winner, and will not be able to help the “Villains” in future physical challenges, she will be the first to have her torch extinguished.

Prediction: Sandra Diaz-Twine

Sole Survivor:

After watching the past 19 seasons, I have determined that there are four types of players — The Rat, The Coat Tail, The Athlete and The Socialite.

According to my math, The Rat wins 47% of the time, The Coat Tail wins 21% of the time, The Athlete wins 16% of the time and The Socialite wins 16% of the time. Also, the winner is a man 58% of the time.

So, the smart money would be picking a man with the potential to be The Rat.

However, for this particular season, I’m going to pick a man with the potential to be The Athlete.

As mentioned before, the “Heroes” team seems stacked athletically. I confidently assume they will have the numbers when entering the merge. Because the “Heroes” will already know the strategies and tactics of the “Villains” based on past seasons, it is unlikely they will let any of them wiggle their way into their circle. I predict the final four players will be “Heroes” — Colby Donaldson, Tom Westman, Amanda Kimmel and Stephenie LaGrossa.

I think Colby will win the final immunity challenge and will elect to bring Tom and Stephenie to the finale with him.

In the end, there is no way the jury will vote for Tom, since he is a previous winner, and Stephenie doesn’t have quite the Survivor clout as her competitor.

Burple was a sugar drink from the late ’80s served in a plastic, accordion-esque container. It featured a taste not at all unlike Kool-Aid®. In fact, you may say it was identical to Kool-Aid. I would.

When you were done enjoying the Kool-Aid flavored contents, you could rinse out the container and poke a hole in the lid to turn it into a water gun (instructions were provided) which was pretty neat. Not as neat as a Super Soaker® filled with Burple, though.